Le Bastille
by Comm
Summary: Jean, a middle-aged Baron who conquered a Dwarven Castle off the cost of Vroengard - the former home of the Dragon Riders - 11 years before, is thrown into the War (Inheritance Series) due to a violent Siege, and must not only save himself from the upcoming Struggle... but his entire Kingdom.
1. Einhendr

**'Le Bastille**

**~Chapter One~**

The Guard heard it before he saw it, a small, feeble rustling of leaves. Curious, the young man walked over and peered into the nearby underbrush. Looking around the area, he tried finding the source of the ground intrusion, but it was in vain. Shaking his head, he went back to his post. Another Guard, who, to his own dismay, was named Picard, walked over, chuckling.

"You, my friend, have no idea how funny it is to watch you there, running back and forth every five minutes! What are you even chasing there, John?"

John, as his name was, held his head high but refused to respond. Shrugging, Picard walked away, and, without a glance, returned to his assigned place along the wall.

The next time John found the bush shaking; he simply ignored it, and looked towards the sky. And when he thought he could hear gentle footsteps, he closed his eye and waited. But when he heard the hiss of steel, his eyes flung open and he looked towards Picard's station. Finding Picard in his regular Post, he spun around, grabbing his sword. He was then met with complete, and utter...

Nothingness.

**~Jean: One Hour Later~**

It was a long night. At a mere hour past Nightfall, Jean found a group of soldiers barge into his room, out of breath. As they had it, after the past disappearances, a platoon of, what they weren't sure, had broken through the Curtain - Which, of course, being an experienced General and Strategist Jean had absolutely no idea what meant - and were advancing into the Outer Bailey. That last bit, at least, Jean understood.

Gathering what little grace he could, the Baron drew his sword form its scabbard and left his Quarters. Assuming compliance, the group of men followed suit. Jean, being talented yet overconfident, was clouded by lack of concern at the situation, while his men kept tugging at their sheaths in a mixture of anxiousness and fear; whether the King died or not, blood would be spilled. In addition, being his guards, they would be first in line for any attacks.

Slowing slightly, he let one of his Guards, Picard, catch up pace even with him.

**~Picard~**

"Captain?" Jean then said, almost casually.

"Yes Sir?" Picard replied.

"Damage and Casually report; where are we and what are we facing here?"

"Well, Sir, as of now we've only lost a handful of men around the Outer Parapets near the Eastern Tower. However, there's a Damn good lot 'a those little things. It appears they've skipped the bridge and gone straight for the Inner Bailey. That or the Gatehouse… it's not too clear."

"Their men" Jean started: "what kind of strategy are they going for?"

Silence accompanied their footsteps until Picard finally found a suitable answer.

"Well, as of before they had focused mainly on attacking our men with a hit-and-run tactic - using Mages and Archers from afar."

He paused to let the words sink it; Jean had few well-trained Wizards on his team.

"However" Picard continued: "they are now trying to scale our walls - they're changing strategies on us."

This, at least, made Jean smile.

"Sir?" Picard asked, "what shall our plan of action be?" Jean looked at the young knight, a mixture of glee and slinkality portrayed across his face.

"We go for the bigger blade!"

Having said so, Jean ran ahead through the threshold of the keep, and left Picard with his thoughts. At least, that is what Picard thought. In seconds, the group of men around him found themselves running after Jean, Battle Cries coming from their hard-worn throats.

Picard was _then_ left alone with his thoughts. First and foremost, he chuckled to himself. The flock might scare the kitchen maid from her dishes, but the entire invasion was happening on the opposite side of the castle-grounds. You would expect an astound General and his Hench to have at least thinner skulls than that… wouldn't you?

He shook his head in answer to his own Question.

The Woman's Dormitory was that way.

Sighing, he ran off to find his Baron. It was going to be a long night. And somewhere, 8 centuries later, a boy sat and wrote those exact words in-bed while looking for something to do.

It was going to be a long night.

**~Picard~**

As soon as they had left, right on queue, Mina, a young serf who worked the dishes and housekeeping, found herself running as fast as her two legs could carry her, out the kitchen door. Picard once again shook his head in bewilderment. Even though he had lived in the castle since being conquered 11 years ago, the castle itself was huge. Many hundred acres were contained within its walls… making it a maze you could lose yourself in for days on end if you weren't careful. So, naturally, Picard took less than five minutes to find all four men.

Also, of course, when Jean stood to face his Captain, the first thing out of the Baron's sheepish lips was;

"All clear here! Nothing to worry about, Captain."

Silently, Picard wondered how Jean had managed to take over the structure as he had. _11 years will run numbers on people but…_

Shaking his head, Picard motioned towards the hallway.

"Shall we get moving then, Sir?" Picard asked the Baron.

"Of course." came his gruff reply.

Dusting himself off, Jean and his accompaniment left the dormitory and went back through the main hall and into the Freezing November Night. Grimly, Picard found himself smiling at the humor of it. A certain boy in the future didn't think it that funny. Rather, he sat Scratching his head confused.

**~Jean~**

Jean, now back to his former glory, charged with his team and held his hand high, placing it in the air and motioning with two-fingers opposite the other; a symbol for the two guards currently on his left to round up men to Jean's left, and the two oppositely on his right to do similar. Nearby men-at-arms joined in as well, and soon a group of two-dozen men stood around Jean, waiting eagerly.

And Jean was not one to disappoint his guests.

Placing eighteen under Picard's command, he and his squad of Six broke off from the main group and trudged down the frigid walkways of dirt and cobble-stone until they finally reached the Postern Gate. No lanterns lit this section of The Wall, nor it's gate. Nodding to one of his men, a young guard stepped forward and slid the heavy Steel door open.

Jean motioned for another of his men to step forward, and asked his name.

Nodding, the guard came over to Jean. He stood eye to eye with his Baron, and Jean was a good 6 feet tall. The soldier then said:

"William, Sir!"

Jean stopped dead in his tracks.

**_~Ten Years Prior~_**

_Standing, facing him stood a young dwarf and a group of his brethren. When Jean took a step forward, so did the young dwarf. Both men motioned for their own to stay where they were, but they themselves advanced. Jean took one look into the lieutenant's eyes and knew he was just a boy. By human standards he would still be a squire; he was under 21. A mixture of fear and strength was set in his jaw and eyes, his very expression. Whether the boy accepted it or not; they both knew in a battle to the death than Jean would succeed. But then again, was the young dwarf fighting for his life, or his honor?_

_"_Dwarf!_" Jean called out, "_what is your name, son?_"_

_The dwarf stopped and called out: "_My name is William! I come with orders from his majesty to slay all who dare enter! Leave now and your men will be banished but spared! Fight and so long as his majesty lives you will be criminals! It is your choice and yours alone!_" This last bit the lieutenant said almost pleading with Jean._

_Jean looked once again into the boy's eyes and, grimly, he responded with "_I have no reason to leave, William. I came here to fight, and either I go home a hero or I die trying._" "_Please,_" Jean said, _his_ voice now pleading, "_forgive me._"_

_Jean raised his sword to fight._

**~Present_ish_~**

William looked worriedly at his Baron until he finally snapped back.

"Are you alright, Sir?"

Jean simply gave a small nod, staring off somewhere behind William. They stood like that for a few minutes, no-one daring move a muscle.

Finally, after some-time, Jean licked his lips and started off towards the Eastern Tower. Many worried glances were cast between Jean's 8 men. Many.

**~Picard~**

Picard waited a few seconds until he saw his Baron and Squad leave before he got to his own men.

"Alright, men!" Picard called out "You know what the Man said! So get a move on!"

Now revved up, his troops each unsheathed their things; swords, hammers, etc., and followed Picard through the Courtyard towards the Eastern Tower. One of his assigned squires quickened his Pace until even with Picard. The young boy then asked: "Captain? We might have a prosperous community within these walls, but we are not at war with any neighbors, and it's been almost 11 years since we took over Vroengard. Or, at least, The Castle. Our walls are twelve-feet-thick, and we have dozens upon dozens of guards. Certainly no-one would be foolish enough to try taking over, would they? Wouldn't the villagers rebel? Everyone here loves Baron Jean's leadership, am I incorrect? Oh, but what if… maybe one of Jean's council is rebelling! And this is really just some kind of distraction?! What if all of this is one big conspiracy! What if Galbatorix is somehow involved! By the gods! What if we're all dreaming and none of us are who we think we are?! What if actually-"

Picard covered the Squires mouth with his spare hand, and looked the boy straight in the eye, saying:

"Kid, when you were a babe, were you hit really, really hard in the head with a rock?"

A worried expression swept across the young Boy's face.

"How… why did… Why do you ask, Captain?"

**_~End of Chp 1~_**

_**Hope you guys enjoyed! I have chapter 2 out for you to read if you enjoyed it****. Feel free to comment!**_


	2. Tveir

_**'Hope you like the next Chapter I've prepared for you guys! Feel free to comment and/or message me!**_

**~Jean~**

The first thing Jean noticed was Fire. And lot's of it.

Catapults were coming out of the surrounding underbrush and being drawn into Firing range. Dwarf after Dwarf rushed into the area, each carrying battle-axes, hammers and swords alike. The ground lay littered with both Dwarven and Human bodies. Both on the wall and off.

Along the wall soldiers with crossbows sat shooting at the mass of Dwarves… but few actually hit their targets. Blood stained the scene, both on the battlefield and on it's inhabitants.

And that's when Jean realized that William was no longer at his side.

Spinning around, he found his comrade face down in the earth. An arrow shaft protruding from his chest. The sent of Burnt Flesh wafted through the air. Turning, Jean saw a bright shape whiz by his ear, just missing another of his men. But a nearby bush wasn't so lucky.

Motioning with his sword, Jean rushed towards the nearest dwarf he could find… sticking his sword in him. A certain dwarf sat staring down at his middle, wondering where a particular red object had come from, before falling promptly into the machine he operated.

**~Picard~**

It was intimidatingly quiet at that part of the castle. Shouts could be heard in the distance near the attack; sure. And the metal clanging of Picard's group of soldiers never helped it… But it wasn't any battlescene. Glancing towards his left to make sure the young Squire who had bombarded him with questions earlier was at bay, he let himself relax enough to let his thoughts drift off.

He thought of Jean, and how well and truly untrustworthy Jean's council really was…

_**~Two Months Prior~**_

_Picard stood facing the council off to the side. Many raised voices boomed and echoed off the stone walls. Among the Empty seats were those of Jean and Foxford. One more council member was gone, but Ohmare was on sick-leave for the time being. He had come down with a terrible Fever the night before._

_Picard frowned. Something seemed off. But he couldn't put it into words. Ohmare being feverish was of the norm., and Jean being a few minutes late was normal… but not only was Jean a good 10-15 minutes late, Foxford wasn't there. Foxford, was ALWAYS there. It was like a creed. Foxford would never let down a chance to one-up another council member. Never._

_Picard then stood up from his chair. No-one noticed. He took a few hesitant steps towards the door. No-one noticed. He walked full-on and finally reached the door, opening it and leaving. Still no-one noticed. Quietly, for no particular reason, he eased the door into place, and let it close silently. Finally, he made his way away from the door and into the castle's depths._

**~Jean: Presentish~**

Two men stood facing Jean. Two _dwarves_, more of. Jean made a mental note to get that in his head.

Even by human standard, these two Brutes could be considered tall men.

As it would turn out, the two dwarves were of the Berse Family tree. A famous family line within the Dwarf Community. Each bore upon their shields a Red, Grey, and White design with Each color running down a Brown Cloth draped across both dwarves' shields. The Berse family had been renowned far and wide in Tale, and for good reason. In the dwarven world they were **huge**. Each color and pattern represented a different aspect to the Berse family. The Red symbolized the blood of the Berse family's enemies upon their swords. The Grey the Berse's fine weaponry. The White the Berse family's "Holy" powers that they had inherited over the centuries. And, finally, the Brown symbolized the earth, and how even the most powerful of men was bound.

But even then again, dwarves are dwarves… And what are dwarves renowned for?

Jean dropped to his knees. He now stood eye-to-eye with the two brothers. Laughing could be heard from Jean's men. The few that were left, anyways.

The two dwarves stepped up, then, in challenge to Jean's insult. While he did not know the second's name, he knew one was named Brutus, and the other was nick-named _Vigueur_. _'La Vigueur Brute; Brute Force'_ Jean thought warily.

"Come now!" Jean yelled. "How can two, fine m-"

Jean mentally kicked himself again.

"-can two find dwarves such as yourselves not see how simple this is? We both know that I'd win in a fight to the death, so why waste the blood, eh?"

The Berse brothers smiled their toothless grins and raised their weapons. They knew he was fibbing. Even the renowned general could not beat the two Berse brothers… could he?

The two brothers looked at each other, and then at Jean.

"Nah." they said in unison.

Brutus held a large hammer, twice the size of Jean's head. From seemingly nowhere, he also pulled out the Berse Family Shield, in which he had somehow managed to stash away on his person. Jean wondered vaguely how the dwarf had hid it. Next, the dwarf pulled out two interesting rocks shaped to appear like feet, and stood upon them. Force did as well. Suddenly, both dwarves were even taller than Jean… and Jean was a good six feet tall. Force held an axe, with a white handle, brown shaft, Grey blade and fresh blood from the kill.

Always with the theatrics.

Jean, now standing next-to the two dwarves, looked almost miniscule. Laughing, Brutus got down on his knees as if to insult Jean himself.

It saved his life.

As he crouched, one of Jean's bowmen aimed and shot at where his head had been. Force, however was not so lucky, and he found an arrow shaft sticking out of his right arm; his fighting arm.

Force fell to his knees, clutching his wounded arm. Not seeing the arrow, Brutus turned towards his brother, fully expecting him to be laughing right along with him. He wasn't met with a pleasant sight. Jumping back in surprise, he once again saved his own life, as Jean's archer once again took a shot at Brutus. Only this time, with Brutus jumping back, the arrow did more than just stop the feeling in Force's arm.

**~Brutus~**

Anger flared through Brutus as he realized what had just happened. Anger flared inside him as he watched his brother - his very twin - die. Anger flared through Brutus as he realized that this Baron standing in front of him, John, was it? had just killed his only brother without even raising a hand.

And anger and Brutus Berse did _not_ go good together.

Brutus swung his hammer violently yet randomly through the air, hitting every little thing that he could find. Humans and Dwarves alike fell before him. Tall or Small, Bold or Bewildered, Brutus's Hammer met every head, every chest plate, or otherwise that it could find.

After not even a minute, dozens of bodies lay mangled around Brutus's feet. Then his eyes fell upon John.

John.

Brutus raised his head to the sky and roared. The few people around him that hadn't been either decapitated or Crippled by Brutus's weapon of choice cowered. Men from a distance looked around frantically, afraid a dragon had come to fight. And in a way…

They were right.

Brutus swung his hammer again and again at the Baron until his fingers started to bleed. Yet again and again John managed to duck or dodge his every swing. Furious, Brutus finally resolved to spin himself around and around and then let go of his Hammer, in which flew through the air at incredible speeds.

But Brutus let go too early.

**~Jean~**

Jean ducked and rolled out of the way of the Berse Brother's attacks, and finally his Hammer as it flew through the air. He had abandoned his sword and multiple pieces of armor for agility, but he saw now that the fight would have to finish off personal. The dead bodies around them would offer little help in saving Jean. The archer that had come to his "rescue" earlier lay decapitated in the grass, his Bow long forgotten. As Jean looked, he found that all eight men lay dead; saving him for last.

Brutus got to his feet and ran towards Jean. This time, however, he wasn't lugging his huge weapon around. And even _then_ he had been fast.

Brutus rushed in and threw a kick to Jean's Side. Jean fell back a few steps, and was left taking deep breaths. The air had been knocked out of him just that quickly. So how would a real attack leave Jean?

But still the simplicity of the attack didn't surprised him.

Brutus came in, throwing a set of Punches and kicks towards Jean's Stomach and Chest. Again and again he repeated the process, and Bruises and Blood appeared on both men as Jean returned the favor.

Finally, however, Jean took his last blow. Brutus used his foot and threw Jean off balance into the Dirt, now stained with blood.

"_A_ny last words, you worthless **peasant**." Brutus said, more yelling than asking Jean as he stood over the Baron's bloody body.

"Yep!" Jean replied.

And Jean, with what little strength he had left, shoved his sword up through the Dwarf's armor and into his heart. He wheezed out: "Tell your brother I said Hi."

Brutus's lifeless body cast aside, Jean laid back his head into a Grassy part of the ground. Sleep overcame him almost instantly.

_**~End of Chp 2~**_

**_Enjoy? Write a review, and follow/favorite my story! And if you haven't already, check out the previous chapter(s) in my story! If you have a _****Steam****_ account there's a link to mine on my Profile under the _****Night Vale****_ reference. Until next time!_**


	3. Þrír

_**Hey guys! It's been forever since I had a new installment in my fanfiction, and it's been tearing at me! I had some family over, and a lot's been going on, and to boot this was my longest Chapter yet! I was able to reach over 2.5k words! I also tried adding a bit more content. Not length-wise, but I'm afraid**_** The Game of Thrones**_** has been getting to my head lately! Also, I did some research and renamed each chapter accordingly to the Ancient Language. Enjoy! (I've had a good 80+ views so far, but I haven't gotten any feedback! What's going on? How am I doing? What could I do to make it funner for you guys! I hope to hear from you soon!)**__  
_

**~Picard; Two Months Prior~**

Torches lined the wall every couple paces, and were lit and fueled every Night. Many windows filled each hallway above-ground. Each door leading to important rooms such as the throne-room and King-turned-Baron's private quarters had two elegantly-crafted stone figures outside to "Guard" the room. Newcomers to the castle might wow at the beautifully crafted paintings, in which lined important hallways. Others might simply gaze in wonder at each carefully-placed Brick that filled each wall and every archway.

But what Picard, of all people, loved most about it, was the way at night in certain places the shadows - miniscule at first glance - could hold an army.

If Picard had lived in the Castle growing up, he would of _loved_ roaming every hallway, every corridor. Oh, the secrets he could find, the people he could see! There would be so much to do! But then again, there was his problem. The people he _could_, see. The things he _could_ find. It really was funny, as a kid. He always dreamt of the things he would do when he was older. Oh, how he couldn't wait! The Dragons Picard would fight, the kingdoms he would conquer! So many possibilities! His name would be famed all throughout Alagaesia! How the Troubadours would sing his name!

Picard smiled grimly at the memories. When he HAD finally grown older, well, his perspective had changed a LOT. He knew nothing of sorcery, and could hardly shoot a bow. _Dragons__!_ Ha! There _were_ no dragons anymore! He **had** never, and **would** never see a dragon, let alone duel and defeat one. Picard was no hero, no commanding General. No astute Wizard. No Warlord. Those were childish dreams. Were they not?

Thoughts aside, he still had to find the Baron. Picard continued up and around the castle hallways and stairways. He had abandoned staying in the Shadows now. Everyone was either in the Dining Hall or at the Council meeting, if not one of the Guards. Yes, of course, the guards. He still had to be at least a bit careful. Slinking from hallway to hallway, he eventually made his way to Jean's quarters. Perhaps he had forgotten the meeting? Maybe no-one had been sent to get him? Who knows, he might think it at a different time. It's not as if, Picard reasoned, they had any perfectly rounded machines that, with two "hands" told what time it was, now did they? Now THAT, right there, is magic!

Perhaps he was caught up with something? Maybe he was preoccupied with some means of freshening himself up? No, Picard Reasoned, the Baron wasn't at _all_ one to tidey-up before anything less than a Peace-Treaty.

That and dinner, of course.

Next, Picard made his way to the kitchen area. The kitchen housed some of the world's finest chef's. And Picard would know. Walking in, he found multiple chef's bustling about. After the council meeting, Jean had planned a large Banquet for its members. Suddenly, Picard had a deep sympathy for the Castle's Chef's. Feeding a castle with **this** Baron must be as hard as taking it to begin with.

Still, Jean had not taken residence within the kitchen's walls. Picard would have to continue on.

After another 20 minutes, Picard began to circle back.

Forward thirty-steps, left 20 steps. Forward another ten, and then turn right, and forward five. Then go…

What was that?

Behind him he heard the rustling of a cloak. Fast footsteps suddenly came up behind him, and he spun around to see who it was. In a flash, his vision was black: some kind of cloth covered his face. What was going on? His head spun, and he fell to the floor. Trying to regain what composure he could, he attempted to stand up once more. No cloth covered his face now. Standing up, drunkenly at first, he looked around the hallway, and took a few hesitant steps toward the end of the hall.

Picard then stopped and looked at his own two feet. Or, rather, what was be_yond_ his own two feet. The stones were suddenly cleaner, now. As if less wear had come to them. Looking around, he couldn't see much difference in the hallway itself. Cautious, however, he made his way forward down the corridor.

When he finally rounded the next corner, he found himself no-longer in the hallways of the Castle. Rather, he found himself in a room. He spun around, but was only met with a locked door. Turning back to the room, he found it to be his apartment within the castle. Looking around, sure enough, his dresser, balcony, and small dining-room table were all there and waiting for him.

Above a woodless fireplace, a banner with two swords hung on tilting racks. In front of the fireplace sat two, wooden chairs, along with a small table for drinks or food. A bowl of fruit lay delicately-placed beside a glass of mead.

Nothing really seemed to be out of order. His dining area was fit, the balcony door was locked up tight, so why was he here?

And then he saw the mirror.

A present from the Baron himself, the mirror stood eight-feet-tall, and had been the former King's before the Castle had been taken over. Picard wondered faintly what a dwarf would need an 8 foot mirror for. He walked over and stood before-it. He looked into his reflected eyes and gave a small smile. His reflection smiled back. Picard studied his face, suddenly worried about his complexion. Confused, as Picard had never been very self-conscience, he studied his reflection once-more, looking for some kind of clue.

The mirror itself was quite nice; besides its humungous height, it had been carved by magic and hand to form a quite interesting piece of equipment. But something was off about it. The carvings were the same, and the mirror wasn't particularly smudged or anything. So what was it? It was then that he moved out of Sync. No, not him…

The Mirror.

It was the eeriest thing Picard had ever experienced. It completely moved out of harmony with him, and left him standing confused. His reflection started laughing a little then. A light gleam filled his eye.

Picard took a step away from the mirror as his reflection smirked at him, scanning Picard's body head to toe. Now confused more than ever, and pretty worried, as it's not every-day this kind of thing happens to you, Picard cast his eyes along the mirror's edge. In real life, he jumped-back.

He stood in front of the mirror naked. He blinked, and the mirror was gone. After a few seconds of darkness, in its' place, he found himself standing by his bed. Confused more than ever now, he carefully stepped around the bed. He though briefly of when he had gotten it. Another present from the Baron. Once again, he wondered why it was so big. They were dwarves, for heaven's sake!

A shape sat clearly defined beneath the sheets. There wasn't really much more to say about it. Whatever was going on, he didn't know. But, heart pounding, he tossed the sheets to the end of the bed. And not for the first time that night, he took a step back in surprise.

Indents lined the bed head to foot, but all he was met with was air. At the end of the bed, invisible feet held the remaining covers up. But those too slowly disappeared, leaving Picard alone in the candle-lit bedroom. Voices drifted throughout his head, and soon filled the whole room.

"Silly" they seemed to tease.

He could hear laughing somewhere distant. As-if a long forgotten memory had been left behind to claim its victim.

Picard slowly sank to the ground, hands-on-head, fighting back the voices in his head. But they only got louder and louder. He felt a warm hand grip his own, and he looked up. Once again, nothing but air. The laughing became deafening, ringing in his ears, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming. Or was he already doing so? It was too loud to hear his own thoughts anymore. To hear his own voice. Whether he was before, he finally stood up to his full height and screamed at the room. He opened his eyes, and found angry tears fill his vision.

But the voices were no more.

In-front of him stood a tall, tanned man wearing a stained brown tunic. Picard looked around himself, trying to figure out where he was. This seemed only to anger the man. He grabbed Picard, who from his height was hardly 4, and shook him violently. Getting only tears from Picard, the man, drunk by the smell of his breath, trudged over to the next room.

Picard started to look at the room more. He sat in a wood cottage, an Oakwood table and its contents spilled across the room. Firewood sat lazily piled near a stone fireplace, and Picard suddenly was flooded with memories. Eyes wide, it started to come back to him. The man, the cottage… He suddenly realized where he was. And just as it happened, he remembered the screams.

Picard rushed through the threshold and found himself in a room with a small table in it, in which young Picard could only suspect was used for eating. But the thrown-over table wasn't going to be used any time soon.

A young girl, fifteen if his memory served right, say hugging her knees opposite the drunken man that had hit Picard minutes before. Tears were filling her eyes as she shook her head in protest to the man. Conflicting thoughts tore through Picard as half of him realized exactly what was going on, and the other could only think to cry in confusion.

Furious, the man continued to yell at her. Finally overtaking his younger self, Picard, with all the strength a 4-year-old could muster, kicked the man. Taking a moment away from the young girl, the man aimed a kick at Picard's head, fully expecting Picard to run away and leave him to the toddler's mother, but Picard stood his ground. Once again, Picard heard voices laughing in his mind. The tall man leaned-in close to Picard and, his voice replaced with whispers in Picard's head, he said:

"Ya can't kill your demons with dreams, kid." As horrible as the man had been, a new level of unsettlement filled his voice. "Come back here when you can swing a sword."

A sword, out of thin air, appeared at the feet of the man, and he kicked it over to Picard. Picard tried desperately to pick up the sword, but his four-year-old hands didn't make it budge.

Laughing, the man turned back around. Where the small dining area had been, the bed from Picard's room suddenly stood. But as the drunkard pulled back the sheets, the girl from the kitchen lay naked to greet him, rather than air.

Laughter suddenly filled the air as the man leaned in over Picard's Mother. Her screams and moans accompanied the laughter, making Picard once-again cover his head with his hands and sink to his knees.

And once again, in an instant, the voices were gone. In their place was almost complete and utter silence. Almost.

As he lifted his head, he found himself filing into a strange, dark room. Voices could be heard softly in the background, but other than that there was only the dull muffle of footsteps outside.

Then, a large man came forward. He was a brute, to say the least. A dark cloth with holes cut out – no doubt with a simple dagger or knife – had been draped across his head.

Picard was led up a set of steps and told to kneel before a brown log of wood. Looking around, he saw men and women alike crowded around him. Finally, a man stepped forward and started reading from a paper in his hand.

"Before the masses, I decree this man guilty of the following charges. Murder, Robbery, illegal substance trading. Among other causes, this man is sentenced by our Baron and Ruler, along with his wise council, to the death by the head! Criminals beware, the same fate lies in-store for you and your brothers." Nodding to the Brute, the man walked off into the crowd, leaving Picard on his log.

It took him a second to realize what was going on. How dare he be accused of such thievery! Picard then tried escaping the log, but all in a futile effort. He was thrown back onto the log, and his arms were strapped down. Tight. He tried screaming to the crowd of his innocence. But the brute only shook his head, and laughs could he heard throughout the crowd.

As the brute brought the axe up for the killing strike, Picard closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. His heart pounded, but slowly the sounds died away until it was silent.

When Picard opened his eyes, he stood in a hallway, back in the Castle. He was slumped against a wall, and had to take a minute to move around a little-bit. His still joints aching, he glanced around the hallway. The stone under his feet wasn't crystal clean anymore. No apartments, no cottages, no podiums. He was alone, and once again he knew where he was in the castle. He began walking back.

When Picard finally found the council-room again, they were deep in discussion. Sure enough, Jean had found his way to the room, Ohmare was still sick, and Foxford had returned.

But as Foxford noticed the new arrival, his expression flared and he grabbed one of his advisors, shaking him a little and forcing him to look at the entrance where Picard stood.

The man could only shrug.

_**~End of Chapter 3~**_

_**Again, I wasn't too sure on including some of the stuff in here. The bit at the cottage I wrote a little later at night than I care to admit, and this was the first time I wrote a chapter focusing solely on one Character. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed, and could take a second to tell me how I'm doing! Cya!**_


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